


Weight

by Etched_in_Fire



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Kyoko Kirigiri is referenced, Spoilers, language warning, sidequel to Dangan Ronpa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junko's farewell to her sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ She seethed to herself, each tug against her sister’s arm filled with just an ounce more wrath than the tug before.  _You’re so fucking heavy,_ she thought to herself, sweat beading about her brow and dripping in a tiny stream down the sides of her angled cheekbones.  _It’s a miracle that they never figured out you were an imposter. You WHALE! I told you, you ate too many fucking donuts._   A high-pitched cackle echoed the stinging thought, but there was no one to hear-- just the masked teen and cold ears of her sister.

            The gardens held an aura that made her gag.  It was a silence that rang in her ears, blaring the word “boredom… boredom…” over and over until her temple throbbed.  The quietness was a fly to a cow, buzzing into her ear and never leaving.  She longed for her music.  For the sounds of bones crunching, the sounds of gurgled screams.  Pandemonium.  It had been a year since the chaos began, but it was a symphony she hoped would never end. 

            With another mighty tug, the corpse slid forward, landing at the masked girl’s feet.  A small scoff manifested on her soft lips, transforming into a snarl of a chuckle.  Hastily, she grabbed at the corpse, scarlet nails piercing the cold tarp and tickling the dead flesh on the other side.  With a deep breath and strain crossing her concealed features, the blonde hoisted her sister from the dirt.  _See?  I’m still strong without you._  

            It was a few steps before she unceremoniously dropped the wrapped tarp to the ground, the sickening thud not even warranting a wince from the masked teen.   A deep breath in, and she ripped the black mask from her face, wavy blonde hair falling in an elegantly tangled mess down her back.  Dainty fingers dabbing at her brow, she felt the wetness, the tiny beads of sweat, and gave a girlish grimace. “Yuck!”  _The things I’ll do for my cause.  No one can ever call me undedicated._ She ran her lithe fingers through her hair, feeling each small knot and tangle and working them out. 

            “You’ll fucking hate it here, Mukuro,” she announced to the body. “It’s so peaceful and quiet, like one of those yoga shows that _Mother_ used to watch.”  It was the perfect resting place for a scion of warfare, and that only made Junko’s grin widen. 

            “You look like a little baby.  All wrapped up like that.”

            Mukuro did not reply.

            “Here, let’s go see that whale of a jaw… oops, I mean, that _strong_ jaw of yours.  Wouldn’t want to upset Mother.  She never liked it when we _fought_.”

            She undid the top of the tarp, peeling it back daintily with two fingers.  Mukuro’s face had become gaunt in death, and no matter of freezing could have stopped that.  _I bet they’re all fucking gross looking now._ Junko grinned and tapped her sister’s nose, “Wow, man, I thought you were ugly before, but _HELL_ , you are downright _nasty,_ you shit.”

            Her finger trailed to the pale, ashen lips, and her nail caressed them lightly. “I’ll miss you, in a weird way.  You were stupid and naïve, but you were almost my equal.  _Almost._   You were in the ballpark.  In the nosebleed section, but at least you were in the ballpark.”

            Everything had been perfect, until her sister had fucked up.  Mukuro’s portrayal of “Junko Enoshima” had been less-than-accurate, and _maybe_ Junko had overreacted.  But she reassured herself that there was a difference between _crime_ and _sin,_ and her sister’s acting was somewhere on the blurry line between the two.  _It doesn’t matter.  She’s a fuck up anyways.  There’s only room for one queen.  There’s only enough room for me._ There was one mastermind, one soldier, and everyone knew who the expendable one was. 

            “Things work out better this way.  They’ll never guess a _dead_ person is the game master,” Junko peeled the rest of the tarp off of the broad-shouldered Mukuro, the puncture wounds like little dotted decorations about her sister’s torso. “So I guess you’re actually helping me in the end.  See?  See?  I didn’t just kill you because you’re a useless slob.  You’re still helping your _dear_ little sister out.  You’ll help me get rid of that fucking detective, and then you can just… um… well, I’m sure there’ll be _something_ left of you to actually bury.”

            The tarp came off with a tug, and she was almost worried her sister’s foot would come with it.  _The masked man who attacked Naegi has a rather specific wardrobe of ugly, ugly, and more ugly.  Which means it’s totally best for big sister Mukuro._   Propping her sister up proved to be more of a challenge than she anticipated.  She scooted behind Mukuro, propping her sister’s lolling head on her voluptuous chest, and began to work on getting the jacket on over her.

            Her toil and tedious work eventually yielded the proper results, and the mask fit over Mukuro’s ice-cold head perfectly.  Junko laid the corpse onto the dirt, her sister’s concealed face staring at the sky behind the greenhouse ceiling.  “You make such a good dead body,” Junko complimented her, knife manifesting into her palm.  “Let’s make you _deader_ , though.” And she plunged it into the cold skin, into the dead flesh, and gave a small squeal of a giggle. “Ooh, sometimes, I think I get why you joined that stupid mercenary band.”

            But her handiwork wasn’t finished yet, and that was when the bomb came out of the other pocket. “So if anyone decides to unveil that ugly mug of yours, we’ll just… um… see that they _don’t_.”  She hooked the device into the clothes, concealed in the white overcoat.

            Junko rose from the ground, dusting herself off gently with the flick of a wrist.  _Done.  This should be enough to stump that fucking detective.  She’s been right about everything so far.  I don’t want my game to end so quickly…_ Not that it mattered.  There was a flicker in her heart, a stirring of doubt and wonder.  _Something tells me, though… that this game is about to see its winner._ Junko gave a small, dreary sigh, then tied her hair back, fingering her bangs as she took a gander over her sister’s body.

            “Now, there’s some phone calls to make, so you just sit tight and wait for them to find you.  You’d better not screw _this_ up, too.”


End file.
